“He’d just make her say to leave it outside the door,” said Hamish.
“I could say she had to sign for it, and when she opens the door, we could rush him.”
“He’d shoot her in the back. He’s deranged.”
“So how do we smoke him out?” asked Mr. Johnson.
Hamish stared at him and then said, “That’s it! You start the fire alarm, get whoever it is who has the keys to the television vans in the forecourt, and usher everyone into them so they don’t freeze to death. Clarry, we need something that makes really black smoke and those old–fashioned bellows from the lounge fire.”
♦
Paul had fallen silent, although the gun in his hand never wavered. At last he said, “Where’s that boyfriend of yours?”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” said Elspeth wearily. “Didn’t it cross your mind he might not bother, that he might just be waiting for reinforcements from Strathbane?”
“Then you’re dead.”
Paul jumped as the fire alarm sounded through the hotel. Elspeth half rose. “Stay where you are,” he shouted.
They began to hear people running along the corridor. Faintly she could hear someone shouting, “Fire!”
There came a pounding at the door and then Matthew’s voice. “Elspeth, are you in there? The hotel’s on fire.”
Then Freda’s voice. “Come on, Matthew. She’s probably downstairs.” Then the sound of retreating footsteps.
“It’s not on fire,” said Paul. “It’s that copper thinking he can trick me into coming out.”
Keeping the gun trained on Elspeth, Paul went to the window and twitched aside the curtain. Down below, he could see figures hurrying through the blizzard and into the mobile units. Some were turning and pointing up at the building.
“It must be a trick,” he said.
“I don’t think so,” said Elspeth. “Look!”
She pointed at the door.
Acrid black smoke was beginning to seep under it. “We’ve got to get out of here,” shouted Elspeth. “The place really is on fire.”
“Stay where you are! No, open the window.”
Elspeth tried. “I can’t. It’s sealed shut.”
“Get to the door and unlock it.” Elspeth did as she was told. “Now stand back. I’m going to take a look. One move from you and I’ll kill you. You’ll see it’s a trick.”
Paul looked round into the corridor. It was filled with black smoke, and to his horror, he saw red flames leaping up at the end.
“Come on,” he said. “We’re leaving. Get in front of me.” He dug the gun into her back. “Now move!”
Choking and gasping, they headed for the stairs. All the lights were out.
Suddenly a tall dark figure materialised and Paul’s wrist was seized in an iron grip.
“Run, Elspeth!” shouted Hamish.
Paul struggled and fought like the madman he had become. At the top of the stairs Hamish smashed Paul’s wrist down on the banister. He let out a cry of pain and dropped the gun, which fell down the stairwell.
Hamish grabbed him by the ankles and held the struggling, screaming director upside down over the stairwell.
Clarry’s calm voice sounded in Hamish’s ear. “Just pull him up and handcuff him and caution him, Hamish. There’s a good lad. No point in killing him.”
Hamish and Clarry pulled Paul back up. Hamish handcuffed him and cautioned him.
Somehow word had got around about what was really happening. The dishwasher had overheard the plan and had told the under-chef, who had told the maître d’, who had told the barman, and so when Paul was led handcuffed down the stairs, it was to find television cameras pointed at him, recording his arrest. He let out an unearthly yell and was still screaming when they locked him in the office and Hamish phoned Strathbane and asked for a police helicopter to lift them off.
He found Elspeth at his elbow. “Are you all right?” he asked. Her face was black with smoke.
“I feel a bit sick. I’ll be worse tomorrow when the shock sets in.”
“I should get you to a hospital. You’ll be suffering from smoke inhalation.”
“I’m fine. You’ve got your murderer and I’ve got a great story.”
“The trouble is,” said Hamish, “if he ever recovered his wits, he can deny the whole thing. It’s going to be one of those cases based on circumstantial evidence. Oh, we can get him for holding you at gunpoint, but if he gets a clever lawyer, the lawyer will try to persuade the jury that because of one crime, the police were fitting him up for another.”
Her silvery eyes gleamed. “Hamish, I’ve got him saying he did it on tape.”
“You darling! How? Where?”
“I told him I was looking in my handbag for a cigarette, and I switched on my tape recorder.”
“Could you go and get it? I’d better stay here outside the office just in case he tries to make a break for it.”
Elspeth darted off. Clarry, the chef, had reverted in manner to the days when he used to be on the police force. “Move along there,” he was saying to the onlookers. “There’s nothing to see. Guests, go back to your rooms, and you television lot go back to the lounge and Mr. Johnson will find you rooms for the night.”
Mr. Johnson came up to Hamish. “The snow’s stopped, but I’m getting all those mobile units moved out onto the road, or the helicopter won’t be able to land.”
“Where’s Matthew Campbell?” asked Hamish.
“He was snogging with the schoolteacher in the corner of the bar. Here he comes.”
“Where’s Elspeth?” asked Matthew.
“She’s probably up in her room filing the story of a lifetime. Didn’t you hear what was going on? She was held by the murderer at gunpoint.”
Freda came up and put her arm through Matthew’s. “What’s going on?”
“Come with me,” said Matthew. “I’ve been missing out on a great story.”
Hamish waited and fidgeted. What was taking Elspeth so long?
At last she appeared and handed him the tape. “It’s all there.”
“What kept you?”
“I was making a copy. He’s very quiet in there. Is he all right?”
Hamish unlocked the office door. Paul was sitting slumped in a chair, his handcuffed hands behind him. His eyes were vacant Hamish locked the door again.
“I think he’s lost it,” he said. “I think this is one that won’t stand trial. His lawyer will claim he’s unfit to stand because of insanity.”
“I’d better get back upstairs,” said Elspeth. “I’m going to have heavy expenses. My suitcase was open on the bed with my clothes in it, and they’re all soot-blackened. What did you use for the fire?”
“Clarry scorched a mixture of rubber and something on a stove, and we lit a fire in a steel bin at the end of the corridor. Are you sure you shouldn’t be going to hospital?”
“No, I’m fine. Got to go.”
Then Hamish heard the roar of a helicopter and went to the door of the hotel. The snow had stopped, but the blades of the helicopter were whipping up a blizzard of their own.
Jimmy Anderson and his colleague, Harry MacNab, were the first out, followed by policemen.
“He’s in the office, Jimmy,” said Hamish, “and here’s a tape of his confession. But he seems to have lost his wits, so I don’t think you’ll get much out of him.”
“Faking it?”
“I don’t think so. I think he was insane all along and now he’s gone over the edge.”
“You’ve solved this case. You’d better come back to Strathbane with us.”
“Would you mind handling it yourself, Jimmy? I’ve left my dog at the police station.”
“For heaven’s sake, Hamish.”
“I’ll send over a full report. Honest.”
“What exactly happened?”
In a few brief sentences Hamish outlined how he had begun to suspect Paul, about the kidnapping of Elspeth and the rescue.